


Spoils of War

by jesseberyll



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cousin Incest, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, allusions to other partners, not really - Freeform, they're gods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesseberyll/pseuds/jesseberyll
Summary: SPOILERS FOR GAME ENDING! Plot what plot, shameless Ares/Zagreus smut.
Relationships: Ares/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 162





	Spoils of War

**_Spoils of War_ **

Loud, and positively ostentatious, but are all revelries not, Ares muses. And surely, one hosted by the Lord of all the Earth’s gems and precious metals cannot be anything but overblown, just  _ that  _ side of outrageous. So much finery, so much decoration, food and drinks and music to titillate everyone’s palates. And so many of them are here, almost everyone that matters.

His Lord Father Zeus and Lord Uncle Poseidon are both fawning at Queen Persephone under the watchful eyes of Lady Demeter, and the cautious, jealous stare of his Lord Uncle, the King of the Underworld. Lady Artemis huddles in a corner, doubtless much chagrined at the total lack of scantily-clad woodland nymphs to entertain her particular tastes. Lord Hermes, like an overgrown hummingbird, hovers around his Chthonic colleague of scarce words, and-

Well, some things do not ever change, no matter the surroundings.

His Lady Sister Aphrodite is clothed in nothing at all, and Lord Dionysus seems to be keen on following her example with unmasked good spirits and an obvious erection.

It’s hardly a surprise to anyone when they get down to fuck on the lounge floor, truly.

It’s a sight Ares is well used-to, and mostly uninterested in. Tonight, especially, with his thoughts on a quarry of his own.

Ah, but there he is, the star of the gathering. Quick on his ember-touched feet, all gracious, excited cheer, a little naive, a whole lot appetizing. The finest treat offered, drenched in delicately cultivated bloodlust, with a penchant for showmanship, and marvelous, varied skill with weaponry.

Ares allows a rare, fond smile as he lifts his goblet at his young cousin.

Zagreus catches his gaze, and grins back. Perhaps overly amicable with a man who is violence walking on two feet.

Or simply fearless.

As Zagreus comes over, Ares puts his goblet of Nectar aside and instead rests his hand on the pommel of his  _ xiphos _ . Carmine eyes meet mismatched green and red.

“Good evening, Lord Ares! I hope the gathering is to your liking?” And he means it - wants to know, perhaps eager for praise.

One must tease, then.

“Less killing is done than I would appreciate.” Ares stifles his amusement at the way Zagreus purses his lips, and relents. “But all in all, my hell-born kin, while I have no care for how your Lady Mother and Lord Father have come to be together, I am pleased to have finally met you. Needless to say, after aiding one so often in his quest for bloodshed and glory, the heart grows fond.”

Zagreus’ gaze flickers, and his merry mood turns a little bashful. His pale cheeks are stained cherry from a healthy flush.

“Likewise, Lord Ares. All that fighting and toiling, I couldn’t have done it without everyone’s help. I am ever in your debt.”

“You owe me no debts to speak of, my death-dealing kin,” Ares deflects the gratitude as he would an oncoming blow. Deft, and with retaliation already prepared. “You ever prove to be entertaining, even when you choose another’s over my own blessings. Few offer me such spectacular carnage as you. Though I cannot quite see you below, the music of struggle is easy to pick up - a chorus of sweet agony, dealt out by your capable hands.”

Zagreus is rendered speechless for a moment, simply gazing at him with some wonder. He opens his lips a few times to answer, but no sound passes them. Ares waits, patient, poised on flirtation, at the ready to strike back.

“...you honor me too much, Lord Ares.” Zagreus ventures, at length. “Achilles did teach me well, but I’m far removed from, er, being an expert.” 

As sure as a deathblow, Ares has his response. He lifts his hand from the pommel of his sword and touches his knuckles to the youth’s soft chin.

“Why, but you have eons more to learn and become an expert, then. I am assured, under careful guidance you will continue to grow. There is room, most certainly, but no warrior is ever quite done learning.” A beat, like a sidestep, and then a lunge for the _ coup de grace _ , his voice low and measured for a suggestion. “And I, for one, do enjoy the thought of educating you.”

Zagreus picks up on the tone - and sucks in air, disbelieving.

“Private lessons?” He gets out through a tight throat.

A little tactless, but Ares only smiles. His knuckles trail down along that fair, bared neck, feeling out the allure of his pulse.

“Of a sort,” he murmurs.

All breath rushes from Zagreus as he tilts his head just so under that touch, in surrender, lashes fluttering.

“My room should be empty.”

Well now.

As much as he adores a blade whetted to a deadly edge in a clever wielder’s grip, Ares does still earnestly appreciate a blunt, heavy fist smashing the life out of someone.

Being direct is not a terrible thing at all.

He flicks his carmine gaze to his Lady Sister Aphrodite’s naked figure writhing on the lush rug beneath Lord Dionysus’ peerless tongue technique. She tosses her head, silken pearl and rose tresses sticking to her forehead and parted lips, and her pink eyes fluttering open catch his own. Her luscious smile encourages, her obnoxious wink is almost a shove on the back.

“...I can hardly refuse. I doubt anyone will take notice if we disappear for an hour or two.”

Ares slips his hand down and curls his fingers around Zagreus’, calluses scraping calluses.

His cousin’s mismatched gaze returns to him then, huge somehow with that near-innocence absolute greed produces. Zagreus says nothing as he turns on his heel and begins to pull him along, out of the lounge.

They slip past Megaera, and Ares dips his head at her with respect, pleased to find only mild interest in her gaze.

Across the gilded hallways, followed by the curious stares of dawdling shades, and then into a cluttered, homely mess that must indeed be Zagreus’ blessedly empty room.

A bed, a desk, some free space on the walls - plenty to work with, Ares assesses upon first glance. Zagreus looks around, thinking of  _ where _ , no doubt.

Ares pulls his hand free, and puts it softly on the back of Zagreus’ neck, moving him with indomitable force towards the nearest flat expanse. Pinning him there, his blush-stained cheek to the cold of the Mirror of Night.

They stay in stillness a moment - his breath on his ear, Zagreus’ soft panting fogging up the glassy surface.

There is an expectation, Ares knows - of how the God of War should do this. Make it a conquest, a plundering. Claim the spoils with no remorse.

Zagreus, his broad shoulders trembling, waits to be ravaged. Not his first time submitting - but Ares is a conqueror, he is not one for easy victories.

“No spirit, my dear kin? Worry not… it is no disrespect to show some defiance, here.”

He waits, the steel-tough flesh of his arm tensing as he readies himself for Zagreus’ prowess, prepared to wrestle him across the room and tumble him into bed for more thorough restraint.

The fingers reaching back to grab onto his hip and pull his burning loins against those taut buttocks are a surprise - but a decidedly welcome one. If one thing could be said for Zagreus, it is that he’s true to himself in any given situation.

“Oh, I have plenty of spirit… my Lord Ares…” He twists under his hand to glance back, his red eye aflame. “...I wager you could wear it thin, though. If you put in some effort.”

Fiery, wanton. Lacking in shame, and even decorum.

A different battlefield, then - not a question of can he, but of  _ how _ .

He would not be the God of War if he did not rise to such a blatant taunt, ready to crush it.

“Bold words, my swift-killing kin.” Ares reaches under his garments with his free hand and hooks his fingers into the hem of the tight trousers beneath the tunic. The fabric protests as he pulls, perhaps stretched to its limits, not quite ripping, but coming loose all the same. He drags the trousers down just below Zagreus’ backside, effective, no need for unnecessary flair. As the youth gasps and struggles and forces his hips backwards, his tunic slips up just enough to show some of his round, pale flesh.

Ares smiles, and answers in kind.

He pulls the fringes of his armor and the hem of his tunic out of the way, his straining cock pressing snugly between Zagreus’ buttocks, nestled there as he smooths his front to his back, and breathes into his neck.

“Impatience only earns you injuries,” he warns, voice velvet smooth.

“What’s a warrior without… a few scars?” Zagreus hisses back, a clumsy riposte, but no less disarming.

Ares is convinced he neither needs nor wants any kinder treatment.

“Complain not, then, after.”

“I w- ahhh...”

Whatever boastful response Zagreus still wanted to impart on him is snuffed out in his drawn-out, awe-struck groan as Ares wastes no more time and begins pressing inside. It is dry going, with only some drips of slick precum easing the way, and doubtless it stings for his willful cousin, but he demanded no mercy - so none he shall have.

Zagreus whimpers for the stretch, sudden and burning, his back curving as he tries to accommodate Ares’ girth. He can feel every inch - slow, torturous, painful in a way that coaxes tears to his mismatched eyes, and entirely, completely blissful.

He loves this - it’s everything he imagined.

He gasps for air, the Mirror’s surface damp against his cheek, eyes closing as the aching, deep penetration continues, sinking into him still, still,  _ still _ -

Ares’ groin pushes tight against his asscheeks as he’s sheathed -  _ ha! _ \- in full, and they stay like that for a moment, with the noises of the feast a constant, chaotic backdrop to their heavy breathing.

Zagreus opens his mouth - and Ares takes the cue, refuses to let him prattle on, take the moment as a victory. This is his - he is the warlord with the laurels, glorying over his young cousin’s choked noise of satisfaction as he pulls away and sinks back in, a dragged-out, calculated motion, as much thought in it as he can afford in the moment. Zagreus’ body gives, allowing him in with more ease as he adjusts to his size and more precum flows inside him to slicken his tight entrance. Good - it’s good, as anything carnal is, a marrow-deep, physical pleasure exchanged between them without much negotiation.

Ares takes - Zagreus yields. He has little choice, once the God of War  _ puts some effort in _ .

He moves, gradual, like building a rhythm for a war-galley’s drum, his hand from the back of Zagreus’ neck sliding up to curl into this black hair. He clenches tight on the short tresses and pulls the youth away from the glass of the Mirror, breathing against his smooth cheekbone. His thrusts smack against Zagreus’ buttocks, the noise soft at first, a whisper, then as he picks up speed and force, they become slaps, loud, obscene.

Zagreus’ mouth hangs open as he moans, fingers slipping on the smooth glass, his body shaking in Ares’ unforgiving grasp.

His cock, aching hard and burning up, is tangled in his tunic still, his precum seeping through the red fabric. As he’s pinned against the cold Mirror, the damp patch leaves wet smears on the surface.

His ass feels searing hot, a friction inside that he’s used to by now -  _ Than could tell _ \- but a ferocity to the pounding that’s undoubtedly Ares’ signature. He fucks the same as he fights - no room left for retaliation, he dominates, unconditionally.

“...oh, damn…” Zagreus coughs out, a strange, dazed laugh on his tongue as the pleasure rampages through him, claiming every inch, ravaging him. It feels good - better than good, as always - and there’s that incessant want for more, more,  _ more _ that never seems to be completely satiated.

“Not enough, my kin?” Ares has the audacity to ask, his murmur of a voice deep and laced with the amusement of unparalleled champions. His lips move on Zagreus’ cheek as he pulls his head firmly back against his shoulder, warm and moist.

_ Oh shut up _ , Zagreus wants to say, but he is reduced to moaning as Ares puts yet more force into his thrusts, rattling the poor Mirror, and rattling all his bones, and  _ fuck _ , he’s going to come so quick, his cock throbbing, balls tight, a coiling, hot, wonderful burst of pleasure waiting right at the edge, there, there,  _ oh fuck, there _ -

He can’t even warn him, a broken shout like a plea for mercy never yielded tearing from his throat as his orgasm ensnares him. Like a weak seam tearing, he spills, a splatter of his come staining his tunic - and the Mirror - worse. He feels the cooling wetness dribble and slip down along his cock, and he moans still, panting with his lips wide open, as Ares fucks him through it, gives no quarter. He’s cornered, whimpering, feet shuffling on the floor as he seeks a balance long gone. They’re gods, yes, they don’t need to stop until they really want to, but just a  _ moment _ of respite would be nice.

“Wait…” He gasps out, patting the tireless hip he’s been hanging onto. “Just… oh, damn…”

He’s worn down, somehow, and when Ares does bottom out in him to stop, and stay just like that, he whimpers, his entire body seizing up, his ass clenching down on the thick cock inside. He wheezes, then gasps, and finally breathes right again, his muscles slowly loosening once more.

“...surely you’re not done?”

Zagreus wants to laugh at the cool, taunting little question, wants to throw a punch with Malphon, but most desperately, he wants to shake his head ‘no’.

Instead, he lifts his hand away from Ares’ hip, and reaches back to thread his fingers through his impeccable white hair.

“...a change in scenery, maybe?” He suggests, his own voice a ragged, bruised mess.

“Easily done.”

Ares pulls away, releasing his hair, and the grasp he had on his body, his cock slipping out of his ass. Once empty, Zagreus is struck by an intense hunger for more, and the lack of Ares’ immense physical strength is almost jarring.

He totters around, his back smacking against the Mirror.

Ares stands before him, tunic and armor sensibly out of the way, his cock twitching naked and hard without shame, sack heavy and cradled in curling white hairs, the shaft slick and shiny. His dark foreskin is pulled back to reveal a pink-hued head, a droplet of fresh precum sliding richly from the slit.

His eyes on that cock, Zagreus shoves down his trousers, and slips out of his tunic, his breath coming quick, mouth watering. He’ll just drop to his knees and-

Ares gets there before him. He grabs Zagreus by his upper arm and pulls him across the room among some stuttered, barely-there protests, and shoves him down on the unmade bed. He opens his legs on instinct and tries to scoot up to make room, but Ares kneels before him and grabs him by his thighs. Zagreus almost squeaks as he’s yanked forward, mismatched eyes wide, staring at the War-God’s bulging biceps as he’s pinned yet again by unrivalled strength.

And then Ares bends his head to his come-soiled, erect cock, and takes it into his mouth.

“Oh,  _ fuck _ !” Zagreus shouts, both hands clenching into the crumpled sheets beneath him as the wetness and heat of Ares’ lips completely engulf him. He arches, head tossed back, and shudders, sprung tight like a drawn bowstring. His tongue,  _ he can feel his tongue _ , a strangely soft, silken caress rubbing around the sensitive head of his cock, sliding across the slit, so smooth, so good-

With a small, wet noise, Ares pulls off and Zagreus slumps with a groan, exquisite disappointment lurching through him. He lifts his head and watches the War-God lick the residue of cum from his smiling lips. Zagreus feels his face burn.

“...don’t you dare drop a line about surprise tactics,” he mutters.

“I hardly care for tactics.” Ares gets to his feet, pulling Zagreus along with himself, still clasping his trembling, muscled thighs in his strong hands. “Only for results. Now, cease thinking, my kin. My time here is limited, as it were, and there is a lot still I wish to do to you.”

Zagreus has no response to that, supported on his shoulders and neck, held in a way no one has ever tried on him before, not even Meg with her creative plays. He finds himself busy clinging with his legs as Ares finds some way to claim him again, his cock pressing inside his hole with considerable ease now. So filling, so hot. So damn good.

Was there ever any other choice but surrender?

He lifts his arms over his head and grabs onto the plush mattress, meeting those ravenous carmine eyes across his stretched-out body. His spit-shiny cock twitches and drips precum onto his flexing abdomen.

He thinks he hears someone else’s muffled moans from the halls outside, feminine maybe. Meg? Or Aphrodite, still?

Then Ares begins anew, a fresh assault, their bodies meeting in loud, frenzied slaps, his cock moving inside an incredible pleasure, so much heat between them, so much dizzying, intoxicating bliss. And he can see it - facing him, he can see the fierce focus in Ares’ eyes, the twitch of his lips as he grunts, the sweat of beautiful exertion barely touching his forehead. He can see his muscles clench and ease, the tendons in his neck taut, his white hair somewhat a tousled mess.

There’s a powerful need in Zagreus to ride him - to suck him, too, but maybe later - only he has no means to turn them around, no hope to voice his wants as he’s fucked into his bed without heed. He can only moan and take it, and take it still as the minutes drag on and the pleasure builds, hotter, tighter, closer, so very close again, a torture,  _ torture _ -

He comes once more, the orgasm wrenched from him by Ares’ greed, and he shudders and gasps and quivers under his gaze, fresh come splattering across the bare expanse of his chest.

So much time passes, he is turned around and mounted, fucked like beasts rut, with Ares’ hand working on his cock to drag him over yet another improbable edge. Then he’s turned again and fucked more, from the front like lovers, clinging to that broad, armored back, uncomfortable almost with the metal digging into his flesh in strange places. Then Ares has him lie flat on his stomach and claims him sitting on his thighs, both his hands grabbing bruises into his ass, pulling the cheeks open to expose their joining, to watch how his cock slides in and out of Zagreus’ thoroughly ruined body with complete ease.

“...Ares…” He whispers, vocal chords aching from moans, throat dry, his voice a cracking little plea, an unheard prayer. “Ares, Ares…”

He drifts, exhausted. Like a flame smothered under ruthless palms.

When he comes to, he is alone, his bedroom as much of a wrecked mess as his body feels. Every inch of him is numb or vaguely aching, the way it always does after returning from an untimely demise in his Father’s hallowed halls.

The only difference is, really, that his ass feels  _ terribly wet _ .


End file.
